


Experiments and Hearts

by tommys



Category: The Maze Runner (Movies), The Maze Runner Series - James Dashner
Genre: Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-13
Updated: 2017-12-13
Packaged: 2019-02-14 08:38:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,984
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13003968
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tommys/pseuds/tommys
Summary: An AU where Thomas and Minho get into a fight, Teresa becomes sick of Thomas moping around, and Newt tells Thomas what he needs to hear. Chaos ensues.





	Experiments and Hearts

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this for the Maze Runner fan book quite a while back, and thought it was time to post here. Have fun with the fluff! Feel free to message me on my Tumblr blog [newtmos](http://www.newtmos.tumblr.com)! :)

 Thomas is pretty sure there’s no better way to spend a day than reading Teresa’s computer manual.

  He’s been at it for a couple of hours now, give or take.  All the information on the data management, optical drive, and mainframe of his best friend’s computer is just  _ so  _ exciting.

  Thomas inwardly groans. Who the fuck is he kidding? One more page of the manual and he’s burning his eyeballs out.

  Thing is, he doesn’t feel like doing anything else. There’s nothing in Teresa’s apartment he could do. Teresa left him some books to read, but he’s read them all yesterday, and he’s not really in the mood to read about Bella’s tragic relationship with her vampire boyfriend all over again.

  The door opens behind Thomas, and he isn’t bothered to turn around to check who it is.

  “Honey, I’m home!” Teresa calls out sarcastically, gently shutting door behind her as she walks towards the couch where Thomas has been the whole day. “What’s up?”

  The other end of the couch sinks at Teresa’s weight, and Thomas turns his head up. “The ceiling,” he responds, squinting his eyes. “And quite a lot of dust actually.”

  “Funny,” Teresa deadpans. She shifts and zips open her bag, pulling out two bottles of beer and an opener. “I got us refreshments.”

  “In exchange of what?” Thomas asks. “I don’t have a million dollars if that’s what you’re looking for.”

  “We.” Teresa looks at Thomas in the eye, adding a dramatic pause. “Need to talk.” She pops open a bottle and hands it to Thomas.

  Thomas accepts the bottle and sets it down on the table in front of them, and pretends to yawn. “Actually, I’m feeling tired. I think I’m going to crash,” he tries and fails to fake. He makes a move to stand up, but Teresa pulls him back down by the arm.

  “No,” she says, sternly. “You’ve been holed up in here since I opened my door to you holding a bag of clothes a week ago. You were practically in tears over your fight with Minho.”

  “Best friends fight,” he scoffs. “It’s normal.”

  Teresa shakes her head. “Not you and Minho,” she replies, before correcting herself, “ _ Never  _ you and Minho.”

  “We fought. So what?”

  “So what?” Teresa asks, incredulously. “Spill the beans, man. I’m supposed to listen as your best friend. It’s one of my duties.”

  “He just — He kicked me out of our apartment,” Thomas says finally, feeling a pinch in his chest. “It’s nothing, really.”

  “Minho kicked you out?” Teresa repeats, unable to hide her surprise. “Fuck, Tom, why didn’t you tell me about this sooner?”

  “Dunno.” Thomas shrugs and takes a long swig from the bottle, making a face at the strong taste.

  “Start from the beginning.”

  Thomas sighs, giving in. “Remember when I told you I wasn’t exactly a ray of sunshine when Minho’s college buds started coming over practically every day?”

  Teresa nods instantly. “Yeah,” she replies. “Something about them making you feel really uncomfortable, was it? That was three weeks ago, though.”

  “Doesn’t matter when it was.” Thomas looks down and uses the tip of his finger to trace the mouth of his bottle. “I told him how his friends really made me feel the night we fought. I said I felt uneasy and on edge with them around.”

  Teresa frowns. “But that’s not a good reason to kick you out of an apartment you pay half the bills for. That’s bullshit.”

  “He didn’t really kick me out.” Thomas laughs pathetically. “Just said I should leave if I didn’t like his friends. Minho — He said not everything is about me, and I know it’s not, you know?”

  “Oh,” Teresa responds, starting to understand. “He thought you were disregarding his feelings.”

  Thomas nods. “Yeah, something like that. Minho said he liked having them around, and that he shouldn’t have to make them leave just because I was uncomfortable or whatever.”

  No one speaks for a while, and Thomas takes another swig from the bottle, letting the alcohol burn the back of his throat.

  Teresa shuffles closer to Thomas, and puts an arm over his shoulder. “How are you holding up?” she quietly asks, a hint of sadness lacing her voice.

  “Given that I read your television’s manual yesterday, and your computer’s manual today, I’m feeling cheeky,” Thomas says, feigning joy with a thumbs up.

  A laugh erupts from Teresa. “Oh, shut up. I didn’t even know I still had those.”

  “More compelling than the Twilight saga, if I’m being honest.”

  Teresa hums in amusement, resting her head on Thomas’s shoulder. “You could get help, you know,” she says.

  “Haven’t I got you?” Thomas asks, setting his bottle back down on the table. “I thought that was on the list of duties for best friends.”

  “Jokes? Right now?” Teresa smacks him on the arm, and adds, “I mean professional help. For your discomfort with Minho’s friends.”

  “Really?” Thomas asks, monotonously. He’s not bothered to make sense out of it, but Teresa persists.

  “I don’t see any reason not to. You said you’d get really uncomfortable with them around,” she says, waving her hands as if they’d help her make her point. “Did you ever find out why?”

  Thomas blinks, and takes a moment to think about it. “I… I don’t know.”

  “Exactly.” She clasps her hands together. “That’s irrational fear, anxiety, or whatever. You should get it checked out.”

  He bites his lip, unsure of what to say.

  Teresa sees this and sighs heavily. “Look, it cost you a fight with someone who means a lot to you,” she says, looking at Thomas seriously in the eye. “At least find out the dick of a cause.”

  Thomas is startled when Teresa abruptly jumps up from the sofa, and runs to the bookshelf near the television.

  “You could go here!” Teresa grabs a small card from the bookshelf, and walks back to the couch where she sinks right back in. She hands Thomas the card. “He’s one of my good friends from college.”

  Thomas is a little skeptic, but he takes the card from Teresa’s outstretched hand anyway. “Newt Isaac, the consulting psychiatrist,” he reads off the card, “is your friend? Man, how old are your friends?”

  “He’s twenty-two – just two years older than us – if you really have to know,” Teresa informs him, crossing her arms. “And he’s in medical training.”

  “That’s great,” Thomas says, sarcastically. “You’re referring me to an amateur.”

  “Oh, shut your hole.” Teresa rolls her eyes. “Are you going or not?”

  “I don’t know. I guess.”

  Teresa nods, content. “Good,” she snatches the card back from Thomas’s hand, who complains. “I’m putting this in your bag so you don’t lose it. You’re going tomorrow.”

  Thomas frowns. “Don’t I have to book an appointment?”

  “I know Newt,” Teresa says simply. “All I gotta to do is give him a call, and you’re in the clear of all heinous appointment bookings.”

  Thomas rolls his eyes, a smile making its way to his lips. “And how may I ever repay you, my Queen?” he asks as he takes the bottle of beer back into his hand, and drinks.

  “Just get better, and make up with Minho, please.” Teresa envelops Thomas into a tight hug, and Thomas yelps at the sudden endearment.

  “I’ll do the first part with your Newt friend,” he says, but with much difficulty because of Teresa’s hug. What is she,  _ a snake _ ? “Get off! I’ve got my beauty sleep to have for tomorrow.”

 

* * *

 

  Hospitals always make Thomas think of three things: the smell of old people, endless white hallways, and pharmaceutical companies being rats by profiting off inflated medicine prices.

  Needless to say, Thomas absolutely hates hospitals. Yet, here he is at the  _ Maze Hospital _ , standing by the counter, and waiting for the nurse to come back from processing the form and questionnaire he’ve just filled out.

  The clock on the wall shows it’s fifteen minutes past twelve, and Thomas has to tap his fingers on the counter to keep himself busy. He’s been standing there for twenty minutes. How long does it take to process a form and a little questionnaire?

  “I’m sorry that took a while,” the nurse says as she jogs back to the counter. “I checked in on Dr. Isaac, and he said he’ll see you right when he’s done with his current patient.”

  “That’s great, thank you,” Thomas says with an appreciative nod. “What do I do until then?”

  “Just take a seat there,” she answers, motioning towards the sitting area, before reaching into her pocket to pull out a piece of paper. “Wait for your turn to be called, and I’ll lead you to the room.”

  Thomas takes the paper from the nurse. It reads  _ A5 _ .

  Honestly, Thomas is just glad he knows Teresa. Only God knows how much longer he’d have to wait if Teresa hadn’t done him the favour of calling Newt. And he’d much rather not find out.

  “I’ll do just that.” Thomas’s eyes dart to the name tag on her shirt. “Thanks, Harriet. I appreciate it a lot,” he finishes with a smile.

  “You’re welcome! I’ll be here if you need anything else.”

  With that, Thomas turns around and tries to find a free seat. He spots one near the back, and makes his way towards it. The hospital isn’t too crowded, for which Thomas is glad.

  Thomas feels his phone vibrating in his hand, and sees Teresa’s name flashing on the screen. Figures.

  “Why am I here?” Thomas asks once he accepts the call.

  “Because I want to make sure you’re okay.”

  Thomas leans back on the wall behind him. “I guess there isn’t anything wrong with a consultation,” he sighs. “Why are you calling anyway? You here to check if I actually went?”

  “Well, that and….” 

  “And?”

  “Minho stopped by a little after you left,” she says, slowly, and Thomas’s breath gets caught in his throat. “He said he wanted to see you, but I told him you’ve already gone out.”

  Thomas takes in a deep breath, and exhales shakily. “Did you tell him where?”

  “Yeah, sort of, maybe.”

  “Teresa!” Thomas exclaims a little too loudly. He ducks his head down and sinks on his seat when a couple of heads turn his way. “How could you?” he hissed lowly into his phone.

  “I couldn’t  _ not  _ tell him! He looked desperate!” she defends herself. “Plus, it’s about time you two get your shit together. I can’t handle another week of you telling me facts you got from my lost manuals.

  “I can’t talk to him in a hospital, can I?” Thomas responds, but all he can think of is  _ desperate, desperate, desperate _ . He runs a hand over his face. “Is he coming?”

  “I think so,” she says. “He rushed out right when I said you were getting a consultation from a psychiatrist. Didn’t even ask why.”

  Thomas closes his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose. “If he’s panicking, you’ve successfully blown things out of proportion. There’s nothing wrong with me.”

  “We’ll see when you get back,” Teresa retorts. “You don’t have to worry about Minho yet, too. It’s noon. There’s bound to be traffic.”

  Thomas exhales heavily. “Fine.”

  An intercom interrupts his conversation with Teresa, and Thomas pauses to listen. “Patient A5, please make your way to the counter. Thank you.”

  Right. It’s his turn. Shit.

  Thomas gets up on his feet, and walks to the front. “I have to go now,” he says into the phone as he gets closer to the counter. “I’ll call you when I’m done, okay?”

  “‘Kay,” she replies. “Good luck, asshole.”

  Thomas snorts, putting away his phone once he ends the call. He looks up and sees a nurse with wild brown hair.

  “Harriet, hey! I’m here.” he calls out to her. “Shall we go?”

  She gives him a smile, and nods. “Of course. Just follow me.”

  Harriet turns her back on Thomas, and begins to walk down a hallway of rooms. Thomas tries his best to follow her from behind, but it’s getting trickier by the second.

  One thing Thomas knows for sure about this damn hospital is that it lives up to its name. Someone could drop the  _ Maze Hospital _ in the middle of a circus as an attraction, and he bets his ass everyone would think it belongs there.

  After a couple more sharp turns around the hallway, Thomas is a little too relieved when Harriet finally comes to a halt.

  “It’s this way,” she says, gesturing towards a room with a brown wooden door wide open for him to walk in.

  “I don’t know how many times I’ve thanked you today, but thank you again,” he tells her, stepping into the room. “You should start a notebook. I think that’s my third time today.”

  Harriet can’t help but laugh. “Good luck with this one, Dr. Isaac,” she jokes, shaking her head as she turns away, shutting the door behind her.

  Thomas whirls around, and sees a young blond in a white coat skimming through what seems to be the questionnaire he’s filled out earlier. “Hey,” he says to the doctor, prompting him to look up. “Dr. Isaac, isn’t it?”

  “Good afternoon,” he greets back politely. Thomas is surprised when he hears the thick accent. “Just call me Newt. Any friend of Resa’s is a friend of mine. Especially her closest one.”

  Thomas cracks a wide smile, and he feels a little less nervous. “She said I’m her closest friend?”

  “She may have.” Newt shrugs, amused. He grabs a pen and a new piece of paper from the side of his table. “Come sit.”

  “Sure thing.” Thomas walks to the office chair in front of Newt’s table, and sits down.

  “So,” Newt begins once Thomas is comfortable, “what brings you to a consulting psychiatrist?”

  Thomas takes a breath. He’s hesitant about speaking up, but he’s been waiting for in the hospital a while. What the hell, right? “Well… I’ve been feeling discomfort whenever people are in my apartment.”

  “Certain people or people in general?”

  He scrunches his face. Thomas has never really thought about it. “Certain people, I think,” he replies. “It’s only when my roommate — Minho — brings them over, which has been practically everyday.”

  “Hm,” Newt hums, scribbling notes on the piece of paper. Thomas tries to see what the doctor is writing, but is interrupted when Newt looks back up. “Can you tell me any physical reactions?”

  “Uh,” Thomas replies, eloquently. “It starts with an inconvenient feeling in my chest, like my heart is going to explode, and a little difficulty in breathing. My skin starts feeling hot, and — oh, I get these uncomfortable churning in my abdomen.”

  “Abdomen?” Newt repeats for confirmation.

  “Tummy, belly, whatever word you use.”

  Newt takes a second more to look at the paper before he sets his pen down. Thomas gets ready for the blow. “See, the reactions you’ve just mentioned align with a wide variety of things, meaning I don’t have enough information to properly diagnose you.”

  “You mean you think I have something?”

  Newt shrugs. “Hard to say at this moment. Why don’t you start by telling when you first started to experience this discomfort?”

  Thomas tries to remember, and answers, “I guess a couple of days before Minho started to bring his friends over.”

  A clear look of confusion is plastered on the doctor’s face when he hears this. If Newt’s trying to mask his confusion, then he’s doing a  _ terrible _ job at it, Thomas decides. It should be illegal for anyone in the medical field to express any emotion at all because, now, Thomas is getting a little worried.

  “That’s where I’m a little lost,” Newt confesses, looking back down at the piece of paper. “You said you only react this way whenever your roommate brings home his friends, correct?”

  “Yeah, it’s only when they’re around.”

  “Well… I initially associated your discomfort with your roommate’s friends, which isn’t uncommon. Some people can develop some form of anxiety towards a specific person, or in your case, people,” Newt explains. “But what I’m trying to figure out is why you started feeling that way before your roommate even started bringing his friends over.”

  “Huh,” Thomas responds. “I don’t know, man. I’m just here because Teresa’s done with me being moody.”

  “Resa said that? Can you elaborate?”

  Thomas holds his tongue back, trying to think of the best way to put together what happened between Minho and him without spilling the whole thing. “Minho and I fought over this, and, uh, I’ve been living with Teresa lately because of it,” he replies, carefully. “Anyway, she said I’ve been more discouraged lately. Dead, more like.”

  Before Newt could respond, the door swings opens with a loud thud from the side of the room. Thomas and Newt jump out of their seats, sending their hearts to the roof.

  A dark haired boy wearing a purple t-shirt and jeans barges into the room. He’s panting a little.

  “Minho, what the fuck,” Thomas deadpans.

  Newt, who just had an arm over his chest a second ago, straightens up and asks, “That’s Minho?”

  Minho makes a face. “You talked about me?”

  Harriet appears behind Minho, out of breath. “I — I told you not to come in here,” she tries to say in-between her ragged breaths. “I’m sorry. He just — he grabbed the log book when I wouldn’t give him your consult room.”

  Thomas leans back on the chair, completely and thoroughly speechless. He’s overwhelmed with feelings, and he doesn’t exactly know what to feel, because what the  _ hell _ is going on?

  “You’re not permitted in here,” Harriet tells Minho, a little bitterly. He doesn’t blame her, if he’s being honest. He would be bitter too if he had to chase the boy past a maze of hallways.

  Minho doesn’t move and turns to Thomas, expecting him to say something — anything — but he doesn’t.

  “He won’t be much longer,” Newt speaks up for him. “I’d give it at least ten more minutes.”

  “Thomas….”

  “Minho, just leave.” It comes out harsher than Thomas intended to, but he doesn’t say sorry. He turns to look at the boy, and tells him, “We’ll talk when I’m done, okay?”

  Minho holds his stare for a second, and Thomas feels as if holes are being burnt into his shirt. “Okay.”

  Harriet is almost relieved when she hears this. She steps aside to guide Minho out of the room when he suddenly stops walking.

  “Is — Is he okay?” Minho asks Newt directly, and Thomas swears he could die on the spot. Could he just ask questions after the consultation was over?

  Newt smiles. “He is. Don’t worry. I just need you to wait outside while I wrap this up.”

  Minho nods in response, happy with what he’s just been told. He turns and walks away from the room with a tired Harriet. The door shuts gently behind them, and Thomas waits until Minho and Harriet are completely out of sight when he finally blurts, “I am so sorry. I didn’t know he’d barge in the like that.”

  “Oh, it’s fine,” Newt says with a shrug, standing up from his table. Thomas watches as the doctor grabs a small flashlight and a stethoscope.

“You have to stop being so kind, honestly. It freaks me out,” Thomas admits with a sigh. “And why do you have a stethoscope?”

  “Standard medical tool. It’s advised all doctors have one.” Newt answers, walking in front of Thomas.

  “What are you doing?” Thomas asks as Newt crouches down to his level.

  “Quiet,” Newt shushes him, and Thomas shuts his mouth. The doctor turns on the little flashlight with a click, pointing the light into Thomas’s eyes for a few seconds before turning it back off.

  “I need you to lift your shirt,” Newt instructs him. “I’m going to use the stethoscope. It might be a little cold.”

  “Isn’t this a psychiatric consultat—”

  “Did I or did I not tell you to keep quiet?”

  Thomas zips his mouth close. Newt proceeds to press the stethoscope on Thomas’s chest, listening to whatever there was to listen to. Newt does the same thing again on his back. It’s a relief to Thomas knowing it doesn’t take long before Newt’s done. The stethoscope feels like a ball of ice on his skin.

  “You can pull your shirt back down,” he says, not looking at Thomas as he does so because he’s occupied with writing more information on the piece of paper.

  Thomas finds himself starting to worry. “I thought you said I was okay.”

  “You are.”

  “Then what was that about?” Thomas asks, waving his arms.

  Newt puts down his pen, and looks at Thomas. “I don’t know how to put this, really, but I think you’ve got what I believe is a crush.”

  And just like that, Thomas stops breathing. He doesn’t even hear his own heart beating, only blood rushing in his ears.

  It takes a moment for Thomas to collect himself. Newt better get ready because when Thomas is done recomposing himself — and he will —  he’ll  _ go off _ .

  And in three.

  Two.

  One.

  “What the fuck are you saying? I don’t care at this point. Teresa told me you were just on your medical training anyway. Do I get a refund for this consultation because I can’t believe you wasted my time.”

  Ah, there it is.

  Despite Thomas’s angry word vomit, Newt insists, “It explains everything. Can’t you see?”

  Thomas’s face stays vacant. “See what, your bullshit?”

  Newt ignores the comment, and proceeds to explain, “The feeling in your chest is caused by an increase in your heart rate, and the difficulty in breathing is caused by your shortened breaths.”

  Newt continues, “Your skin feels hot because of the blood rushing to your face, and the ‘uncomfortable churning in your abdomen’ is more commonly known as butterflies in your stomach. I checked your pupils just to make sure, too, and they were dilated.”

  “Oh my God.”

  “It also explains why you started feeling this way even before your roommate started bringing his friends over,” Newt says, simply. “You developed a crush on him before that.”

  Thomas is blushing so furiously he feels as if someone can fry a fucking egg on his face for breakfast. “I like Minho?” Thomas says, the phrase sounding foreign, like it’s not even English. “I… I like Minho.”

  “If Minho’s the first boy you’ve ever had romantic feelings for, then I want you to know it’s completely fine,” Newt says. “I just want to make sure you know that so you don’t come running here every time you find yourself getting a boy crush.”

  Thomas is still confused, but he nods anyway. Maybe this is all the dream. A long ridiculous dream. “I – I should go.”

  “Here.” Newt hands Thomas a piece of paper with a date on it. “I want you to come back in three days to make sure your moodiness isn’t an actual problem. Just show Harriet the slip, and she’ll confirm the appointment.”

  “Okay,” Thomas replies as he stands up from his seat, walking to the door. He pauses at the threshold for a moment and turns around, looking just a bit mortified. “What do I tell Minho?”

  Newt shrugs. “That’s up to you.”

  Thomas considers this, and sighs. “Thank you, I guess.”

  Newt smiles and nods in gratitude. Thomas watches as the young doctor returns to his work. Thomas walks away, not able to think. The whole way back to the counter was filled with his brain throwing mixed thoughts at him.

  It isn’t long before he reaches the main desk. Thomas hands the slip to Harriet, who takes it and types his appointment details into the computer.

  He turns around and waits for her to be done, and sees Minho sitting down. Minho jumps up from his seat when he meets Thomas’s eyes.

  “Thomas,” Minho breathes, clearly worried. “Are you okay? What did he say?”

  Thomas’s mouth goes dry that instant. “It’s nothing.”

  Behind Thomas, Harriet says, “Appointment’s been confirmed.” She hands Thomas back the slip of paper, and he slips it into his pocket. “See you this Thursday.”

  Thomas attempts (and pathetically fails) to smile. He walks away. Minho, who’s noticed his best friend’s sudden change in behaviour, sighs and jogs up to Thomas’s side. “Why do you have to come back?” he asks. “What did he diagnose you with?”

  Thomas abruptly stops walking, and exclaims, “Minho, stop asking!” He’s breathing heavily. Being impatient and confused at the same time really isn’t convenient. “I want to go home. Please.”

  Minho looks desperate to piece things together, but he lets it go. He asks, “Our home?”

  And, very quietly, Thomas replies, “Yeah.”

 

* * *

 

  The bus ride home was quiet, which was new. They’d normally be screaming science facts at each other, but Thomas couldn’t help but feel awkward this time. So when they finally reach their apartment, he’s more than ready to avoid Minho.

  Thomas is the first to step into the apartment, and he feels a gut twist in his stomach when realizes how much he’s missed being home. “I think I’m going to nap,” he mumbles, avoiding Minho’s eyes.

  “Thomas, it’s only three.”

  “Tired,” Thomas replies. He turns around to walk to his bedroom, but Minho pulls him back by the wrist.

  “Tell me what happened,” Minho says, sternly. It’s only now when Thomas really sees how distraught and tired he looks, but that isn’t going to change what Minho did to him.

  “You kick me out of our apartment, and you expect me to tell you what happened?” Thomas asks, incredulously, his eyebrows arched. “You’re brilliant, you know that?”

  “Please,” Minho whispers.

  “Fine!” Thomas explodes, throwing his arms in the air. “Newt told me I don’t have a problem. As a matter of fact, I have a fucking crush. And guess what?  _ On you! _ ”

  Minho’s voice trails off when he says, “Thomas….”

  “It explains my discomfort! My increased heart rate, shortened breaths, and hot skin,” Thomas goes off. “Even confirmed it when you walked in, and I got dilated pupils.”

  Thomas is breathing heavily when he finishes, still a little angry. But really, he’s just glad that it’s out.

  Minho stares at Thomas with a blank face, processing what he’s just been told. “We fought because you thought you were uncomfortable with my friends when really it’s because you have a crush on me?”

  “I don’t know, man,” Thomas says, desperately. “I’m not even sure if I’m dreaming right now or if a professional really diagnosed me with a fucking crush.”

  Minho looks at him, searching for something. Thomas doesn’t know what washes over him, but a smirk makes its way to Minho’s lips. “A scientific test could reassure things for us.”

  Minho takes a step closer to Thomas, and he freezes.“What are you doing?”

  Minho gladly ignores the question. “The hypothesis is you have a crush on me.” The smirk is still lingering on the corners of his lips, and Thomas wants more than anything to smack it away. “Expected reactions include the following.”

  “Minho,” Thomas warns him dangerously.

  Minho steps one more step, and Thomas swears they’re standing so close he could see the little freckles he used to admire only from afar on the bridge of Minho’s nose. The asian boy pokes his cheek, and says, “A blushing face indicating hot skin, check. Hitched breathing indicating shortness of breath, check. Dilated pupils, check. How’s your heart rate going?”

  At this point, Thomas doesn’t know how he’s still standing.“What are you doing?”

  “Testing the hypothesis,” Minho responds, simply. A second later, he’s leaning in, and Thomas thinks  _ this is it.  _ This is how he dies. From his heart beating too fast, from his skin feeling like the surface of the sun. Thomas’s eyelids involuntarily flutter close as Minho’s lips gently brush over his. “Can I?”

  “Yeah,” Thomas replies, breathily.

  A beat later and Thomas’s world explodes. His world suddenly melts into one thing —  _ just one thing _ — and that’s Minho. His lips are soft against his own, and Thomas doesn’t want it to stop. Minho gently brings his hands to Thomas’s neck, and holy shit, his heart skyrockets to the stars.

Minho pulls back first, and no one dares to break the silence. Thomas just want to selfishly stay in the moment.Thomas is the first to pierce the silence with a whisper, “What just happened?”

  Minho laces his hands with Thomas’s, and ghosts over the back of the brunet’s hand with his thumb, sending fires to Thomas’s skin. “We just proved the hypothesis,” he says with smile, tainted with a hint of smugness. “You, sir, have a crush on me.”

  Thomas feels just a tad bit dizzy, feeling like fireworks are being set off in his chest. “And you?”

  “For the longest fucking time,” Minho responds, monotonously. “It’s about time you did, too.”

  Thomas can’t help but laugh. He feels so happy and relaxed, and he just, he wants it to stay that way. He wants to freeze the moment and capture it. “Hey, Minho?”

  “Hm?” Minho hums.

  “Does this mean you’ll do anything for me?” Thomas challenges, and Minho nods without hesitation. A smirk creeps its way to Thomas’s face. Just a millisecond before Minho realizes his mistake, Thomas rushes to say, “Good, because I’m making you do the dishes for the next week.”

  “Thomas!”

  Thomas quickly plants a kiss on Minho’s cheek before running into his bedroom. Minho calls out to him and tries to catch the boy, laughing.

  Strangely enough, they go on with their lives as if nothing’s changed. And that’s because nothing did. Thomas guesses it’s because maybe he’s always liked Minho. The only thing that changed was the little kisses they would sneak in here and there.

  Thomas could live with that, actually. He could probably live with that forever.


End file.
